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The Orthodox Church

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The Orthodox Church

An Introduction to its History,Doctrine, and Spiritual Culture

JOHN ANTHONY McGUCKIN

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© 2008 by John Anthony McGuckin

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The Orthodox Church : an introduction to its history, doctrine, and spiritual culture / John Anthony

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Contents

Preface xiList of Illustrations xiii

List of Abbreviations xivNote on Sources xv

Introduction: Strange Encounters 1

1 The Pilgrimage of the Orthodox through History 5A Brief History of the Orthodox from the Apostolic Era to the

Middle Ages 5Perspectives of history 5

Earliest Christian foundations 7The development of ecclesiastical centres 12

The age of the Fathers 14Creeds and councils 17East and West: the parting of ways 20

The Slavic mission 23The Organization of the Orthodox Churches from Medieval

to Modern Times 24The extension of the Orthodox Church 24

Synopsis of the organization of the Orthodox churches 30The ancient patriarchates 31

The Orthodox Church of Cyprus 44The Church of Sinai 46

The Russian Orthodox Church (patriarchate of Moscow) 47The wider Russian heritage 55The Orthodox Church of Greece 61

The patriarchal Church of Bulgaria 62The patriarchal Church of Serbia 65

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vii

The patriarchal Church of Romania 66The Church of Georgia 70

The Church of Poland 71The Church of Albania 72

The Church of the Czech lands and Slovakia 73The three autonomous Orthodox churches 73

The various Orthodox diaspora communities 76The Orthodox Church in America 80

2 The Orthodox Sense of Tradition 90The Holy Tradition 90

Sources of Authority in Orthodoxy 100Orthodoxy’s Reading of the Scriptures 102

An ecclesial reading 103The principle of consonance 106

The principle of authority 108The principle of utility 109

Patristic and Conciliar Authorities 110The Symbolical Books 111The Pedalion (Holy Canons) 115

Tradition and Revelation 116

3 The Doctrine of the Orthodox Church I:The Glory of the Lord 120

The Christian God 120The Holy Spirit 126

The Lord Jesus 141The Immortal Father 158The Holy Trinity 166

4 The Doctrine of the Orthodox Church II:

The Economy of Salvation 182Humanity and its Sufferings 182

Salvation and the Call to Ascent 198The Song of Creation 204

The Blessed Theotokos: Joy of All Creation 210The Dance of the Blessed: The Angels and the Saints 222

Outside the Gates: Demonology and the Enigma of Evil 234The Church: Bride of the Lamb 238

5 The Holy Mysteries and Liturgies 277

Greater and Lesser Mysteries 277The mystery of baptism 282

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CONTENTS

viii

The mystery of chrismation 285The mystical supper: communion in the Holy Eucharist 288

The eucharistic liturgy 296The mystery of metanoia 300

The mystery of the great anointing 306The mystery of marriage 309

The mysteries of ordination 323The lesser blessings of the church 335The services of prayer 336

The Trisagion prayers 338The daily offices 339

Personal prayers 346Traditions of Orthodox Prayer and Spirituality 346

Methods of prayer 347Prayer of the heart 349

The Jesus Prayer 351Hesychasm 352

Fasting and feasting 353The Holy Icons: Doors to the Kingdom 354Sacred art 354

The Orthodox vocabulary of worship 356Icons and iconoclasm 357

Icons of the Lord 361Icons of the Virgin 362

Icons of the saints 363

6 ‘The God-Beloved Emperor’: Orthodoxy’s PoliticalImagination 380

Caesaro-Papist Caricatures 380Byzantine Models of Godly Rule 381

The Ambiguity of Scriptural Paradigms of Power 384The Concept of the Priestly King 388

Dominion as Apostolic Charism 390Patristic Ideas on Symphonia 391

New Polities in the Aftermath of Byzantium 395

7 Orthodoxy and the Contemporary World 399

The Poor at the Rich Man’s Gate 399The Grace of Peace and the Curse of War 402

Freedom in an Unfree World 408A New Status for Women 411

Biological and Other New Ethical Environments 415Sexual Ethics and Pastoral Care 420

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CONTENTS

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Ecumenism and the Reunion of the Churches 424Religious Pluralism in the Global Village 426

Evangelism in a New Millennium 430

Glossary of Orthodox Terminology 436Select Bibliography 443

Index 453

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CONTENTS

x

Preface

In the course of my own winding, pilgrim’s, road to Orthodoxy it was the tangible

sense of beauty that served as a constant allure. It was the radiant kindness of a few

luminous souls, several of them bishops and priests, that made flesh for me what

I had been searching for, not so much the zealotry that many were eager to offer me as

their witness to the truth. Years later I came across a saying of St Symeon the New

Theologian to the effect that a candle can only be lit from the flame of another living

candle, and it struck me as exactly apposite. When Truth is a living person, we can

no longer try to make it synonymous with mere accuracy. What is at stake is more

a question of authenticity. Orthodoxy is often approached by those outside it as a

system of doctrines. But it is far more than this, and this is why a book of systematic

theology does not quite capture the reality. Orthodoxy is the living mystery of Christ’s

presence in the world: a resurrectional power of life. It cannot be understood, except

by being fully lived out; just as Christ himself cannot be pinned down, analysed,

digested, or dismissed, by the clever of this world, whom he seems often to baffle

deliberately.1 His message is alive in the world today as much as when he first

preached it. The Orthodox Church is, essentially, his community of disciples trying

to grow into his image and likeness, by their mystical assimilation to the Master who

abides among them.

This book is an attempt to explain that mystery of church in a variety of approaches:

theological, historical, liturgical, spiritual, political, and moral. The union of all these

avenues is difficult to effect intellectually, but is much easier to accomplish organically.

Indeed it is clear that the Christian life itself, in its deepest and most authentic

manifestations, is exactly a matter of this synthesis: this ‘coming together’ or ‘coming

home’ that is sought after as the life of virtue that brings peace to the soul and the mind.

The Fathers of the Church tended to refer to the Christian faith as ‘our philosophy’,

which exactly caught the aspect of Christianity as a fundamental lifestyle; a way of being,

as much as a way of thinking. This book, then, has been designed to assist Orthodox to

a renewed appreciation of their faith, at once ‘ever ancient and ever new’, as well as to

introduce it in a way that could be of benefit to readers who are not overly familiar

with Orthodox life and practice. The book’s imagined readership is a double one:

English-speaking readers who have come to Orthodoxy by the grace of God and wish

to learn more of their own tradition; and those who have an ecumenical interest in the

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xi

Orthodox Church, and wish to question it about a range of concerns. I hope this volume

will serve as a useful dialogue partner on the pilgrimage trails of each of its readers.

The book is deeply concerned with theological doctrine, but not to the exclusion of

other important matters. There are some very good treatises of Orthodox theology

available.2 A common denominator among them is that they are all heavily based on

the Scriptures and the Fathers,3 and I hope that this study will also pass that litmus test.

It has been arranged in three chief divisions: the historical context of the church in its

long pilgrimage (chapter 1), the theological task proper, namely the doctrine of God

(chapters 2 and 3), and finally the several aspects of the economy of salvation; that is,

the impact of God’s Kingdom in the world, and among the communion of the saints

(chapters 4 through 7).

I am grateful to the Henry Luce III Foundation of America for its generous award of

the Luce Fellowship in 2006 which allowed me the space to complete such a large

project. I am also indebted to a number of readers, all of them skilled commentators in

Orthodox theology and ecclesiastical affairs, and friends of long standing, whose

advice, disagreements, and encouragement have helped me make this better than it

was. Orthodox faith is one and harmonious. It is my trust that this book conforms to

that unity of the faith. Such was my constant intention. Orthodox culture, however, is,

like any family: subject to many discussions, and often loud disagreements, over the

interpretation of many things. My brothers and sisters who have dialogued with me are

examples of how such a conversation can be conducted in love and mutual respect, for

the greater clarification of the truth. It is a rare charism in a loud and aggressively

superficial world.

FR . JOHN A. MCGUCKIN

Feast of St Basil the Great

New York, 2007

Notes

1 Matt. 11.25.

2 Beginning with the two most outstanding

patristic exemplars: St Gregory of Nazian-

zus’ Five Theological Orations, and St John

of Damascus’ Orthodox Faith, both of

which are accessible online. In terms of

modern literature one can think of Staniloae

(1998, 2005), Popovitch (1997), Pomazansky

(1997), Tsirpanlis (1991), Lossky (1978),

and Yannaras (1991) as six easily accessible

examples in differing tonalities, and with

varying depths of profundity.

3 Aword that designates the early generations

of saints and theologians (often bishops)

who defended the Orthodox faith and

articulated its inner spirit.

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xii

PREFACE

Illustrations

1 St Cyril of Alexandria 162 St Tikhon of Moscow 50

3 The Divine Liturgy 1014 Deisis icon of Christ Pantocrator, from the church of Hagia Sophia 156

5 Icon of the Trinity: St Andrei Rublev, Hospitality of Abraham 2426 Hesychasterion of a Romanian Orthodox nun 3507 Transfer of the relics of St Gregory the Theologian 387

8 Rohia monastery, Romania 431

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xiii

Abbreviations

LXX Septuagint

OCA Orthodox Church in America

PG Cursus Completus Patrologiae Graecae, ed. J. P. Migne, 162 vols. Paris:

Garnier, 1857–66

PL Cursus Completus Patrologiae Latinae, ed. J. P. Migne, 222 vols. Paris:

Garnier, 1844–64

ROCOR Russian Orthodox Church Outside of Russia

SCOBA Standing Conference of Orthodox Bishops in America

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xiv

Note on Sources

PATRISTIC WRITINGS

Throughout this book there are extensive references to patristic writers and texts

from the early Christian centuries. Readers will find a guide to the authors, the

contents of major treatises, and the availability of the best editions and translations

in J. A. McGuckin, The A–Z of Patristic Theology (London: Student Christian

Movement, 2005), and J. Quasten, Patrology, vols. 1–3 (Antwerp: Spectrum, 1972–5).

PSALM NUMBERING

Orthodoxy follows the psalm numbering of the Septuagint (Greek) Bible, whereas the

Western world, by and large, follows the numbering of the Hebrew Bible. Roman

Catholicism used to follow the Septuagintal system, but (except in liturgical altar-

books) has now largely gone over to the Hebrew numeration. The table of equivalence

is as follows:

Greek Septuagint Hebrew

1–8 1–8

9 9–10

10–112 11–113

113 114–15

114–15 116

116–45 117–46

146–7 147

148–50 148–50

For most of the psalms, then, the LXX numbering will be one psalm behind the

Hebrew. The LXX also frequently begins the verse numbering with the psalm title

(if it is more than a few words long), which in the Hebrew is not counted as part of

the verses. In such cases verse 1 in the Hebrew numbering system will be verse 2 in

the LXX.

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IntroductionStrange Encounters

The Orthodox (generally) do not regard themselves as exotic. If they have come to

Orthodoxy from other forms of Western Christian tradition, or from secular atheism,

they often are tempted to regard themselves as exotic for a while, but it soon wears off.

Apparently, however, many external observers do still retain that perspective, and it

can often tempt the Orthodox to live up to it by ‘posing’ as exotic: a dangerous

state of affairs which postcolonial theory has put its finger on already as ‘subalternism’,

or that state where a small group with a residual minority consciousness tries to live

up to expectations foisted on it by the dominant hegemonic powers of the age.1

The Christian Orthodox, as they have been encountered relatively rarely, ‘in the

flesh’, in the ordinary experience of most Western Christians, are certainly a ‘strange

encounter’. The root presuppositions, and the basic style of worship and attitude

that are so familiar in many forms of Western Christian practice, seem different here.

If the Orthodox feature in the public eye of the media at all, it is usually with a view to

the ‘strange’ rituals of a church that has a very ancient liturgical style, and often uses

languages that outsiders do not remotely understand.

The temptation to categorize the Eastern Orthodox as romantically exotic is a

powerful one, and is often a fate wished on them by those who hold them in kind

regard and who value many of the things Orthodoxy represents in Christian history,

such as faithfulness to tradition, endurance under suffering, and reverence in wor-

ship. Those who are less enamoured of Orthodoxy look at it from the perspective of

their own philosophies, ideologies, and orthodoxies, and sometimes censure it as

reactionary, exclusive, patriarchal, rigid in its doctrines and liturgy. Rarely, however,

do either its critics who dislike it, or its non-Orthodox friends who cherish it,2 have

much awareness of the wider context of what an Orthodox articulation of the

church and society would be on its own terms. This book tries to set out such

a vision. It is offered as a sustained essay in Orthodox history, theology, and culture,

and offered as much to the Orthodox reader who wishes to enter into a discussion

of his or her own tradition as it is to a general reader who might simply wish to gain

a deeper understanding of where the Orthodox came from, and what they claim to

represent.

But running throughout all the sections of this book is the message that ‘exotic,

the Orthodox Church is not’; rather, it is a full-blooded community of the faithful

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1

who have their feet planted firmly in the earth, and their eyes raised joyfully to heaven.

In its own understanding it is simply the catholic heart of the Christian witness;

not peripheral but at the very core of the Christian endurance throughout history.

Notions of ‘Eastern’ or ‘Western’ Christianity have often been far too heavily overdone

in the past. Is Russia the ‘East’ any more? Is Greece, any longer, a journey too far for

a ‘Western’ traveller? Those terms ‘Western Christianity’ and ‘Eastern Christianity’

have been retained in these pages as convenient shorthand for distinguishing Orthodox

forms of thought from the more familiar Roman Catholic and Protestant worlds of

discourse that have so massively dominated English-language Christian literature to

date. But the present author is always lost for words (a rare state of affairs) whenever

anyone asks him to speak as an ‘Eastern Christian’. Being an Irish, English-born,

Romanian Orthodox priest teaching and ministering in America may not be a very

common position; but it is surely not an unusual state of affairs any more to have an

ethnic and cultural weave of many different colours in our histories, minds, and hearts

in this era of the global village. This book is an attempt to present Orthodoxy in such

a way that English-speaking readers may be able to gain a sense of an ancient

theological tradition that does not see itself as ‘strange’ or ‘closed off ’ or as ‘having

nothing to say to postmodernity’, but one that has only relatively recently been released

from a long nightmare of oppression, and which will, in the immediate future, be

a voice that will be raised again in the counsels of world Christianity.

Because of the nature of this book as a ‘learned introduction’, sometimes I have had

to cover immense ground very quickly. This leads to a species of didactic writing that

is necessary if one wishes to draw up an honest guide to the terrain, but is a difficult

medium to make shine. If one stops too long and discusses the depth and detail of

history, it would become something wholly other than an introduction. This aspect

of the book, what we could call the mode of the ‘Grand Levantine Tour’, is nonethe-

less important for what it reveals about our general presuppositions about things.

How obsessively, it seems, all available church history has been written out of the

Reformation experience. Orthodoxy did not know there had been a Reformation until

the late seventeenth century. It is still true to say that it sees more or less nothing

through the lens of that experience. Its view of the history of the church still tends to be

dominated by older constructs: who was it that was oppressing us yesterday, and what

was it about this time? I am not saying that this is a good thing, necessarily. The

aftermath of extensive persecutions (and Orthodoxy has suffered considerably and

relentlessly in the course of the last five centuries, most especially in the last one) often

marks the survivors with deep traumas that need generations of sunlight to heal. I am

saying only that it makes for a very different perspective on what really matters in

telling a history of the church: endurance, community, and shared story.

Another thing that one learns very quickly about English-language books on

Orthodoxy (not that the bookstores are overloaded with them, one has to say) is

that they are relatively recent, and almost inevitably written by non-Orthodox scholars.

There are only four written by cradle Orthodox that I can think of immediately: those

of Meyendorff, Bulgakov, Zankov, and Zernov, all Russians coming out of the diaspora

scattered as a result of the Soviet revolution. They try to offer a general introduction,

mainly aimed at non-Orthodox who want a broadly based guide to the Orthodox

world. In the geographical and social context from which they originate, that means

they were written chiefly to imaginary audiences from the Anglican (Episcopalian) or


INTRODUCTION

2

Roman Catholic worlds, and were often concerned to present Orthodox ideas ‘in terms

of their differences’ from post-Reformation contexts. In contrast, I have here been

more concerned to speak simply as an Orthodox, and not worry too much about how

other traditions have approached things, knowing that the bookstores are indeed

groaning with their articulations on their own terms. His Grace Bishop Kallistos

Ware’s popular book on Orthodoxy set a new bar when it first appeared in 1963.

Written primarily to explain Orthodoxy to the outside, it has since become a cherished

vade mecum for almost all English-speaking Orthodox, who have often had great

difficulty accessing balanced and cultured discussions of their faith and history.

Nevertheless, the majority of scholarly ‘Introductions to Orthodoxy’ in the English

language have not been written by Orthodox at all, but by learned Roman Catholic

clergy. Invariably these demonstrate two warring principles in the breast of their

authors: the first a deep respect for the Eastern Church and its venerable customs

and catholic spirituality; the second a progressive impatience with the Orthodox,

mounting at times to a barely concealed desire to castigate them for their indifference

to the advances of the early stirrings of Catholic ecumenism. Here, I am speaking

especially of the first forty years of the twentieth century, before matters changed

dramatically after the Second Vatican Council. Some of these books remain as valuable

sources, but they are now showing their age, and their biases.

This introduction, therefore, tries to do something different; something, I hope, that

is new and valuable, in so far as that is possible in what sets out to be a faithful iteration

of what it is to be Orthodox. This approach to the subject is heavily invested in

theological investigations. It is biblical and patristic in tonality (how could it not be

if it were to be Orthodox?), but it is not solely an essay in the history of theology but

always an attempt to see how the living word of the evangelists, apostles, and Fathers

can speak to the present moment, in and through the experience of the Orthodox.

It is a theology written from the perspective of how Christianity functions as a way of

life, as a progressive seduction into beauty and simplicity.

Christian Orthodoxy, as it once more emerges into a public role in eastern Europe,

and grows deeper roots in western Europe, Oceania, and America, is faced with many

problems, not few of which derive from the lack of functioning theological schools for

many generations past. In the context of a severe purge of leaders of intellectual acuity

over the past generation, the Orthodox Church today is offered many temptations

to take refuge in an authoritarianism learned from decades of hostile oppression,

or to pose as the subaltern ‘other’ to the alleged norms of Roman Catholicism or

Protestantism. I believe that both are ill-fitting responses: the first counteracts the

Orthodox Church’s potential role as a paradigmatic model for new freedoms and

traditions of constructive, and open-ended engagement with a post-Christian society;

the other betrays the Orthodox Church’s spirit of catholic universality by the adoption

of alien agendas, and subalternisms of various types, or the ill-advised encouragement

of dangerous new nationalisms and ethnic phyletisms.

Then who is it that this book addresses? Well, in the first place: you who have this

text in your hands, and have been brought to it not accidentally (for the Orthodox

do not believe in such a notion) but by the gracious providence of the Lord of Wisdom

who delights in discussion, learning, and mutual enlightenment. My ‘proposed read-

ership’ is a pastoral audience of English-speaking Orthodox, and those Christian men

and women of good will who are interested in understanding more of Orthodoxy,


INTRODUCTION

3

and in entering into fruitful dialogue with it, in an age of relativities and secularism

that have weakened a divided Christendom. The potential vocation of Orthodoxy to

facilitate mutual dialogue between the divided churches of the West is a motive that

has not been far from my mind.

Throughout its long history, and especially so in times when it was free and had

assets, and could design its own programmes of outreach, Orthodoxy has always been

a church that has valued communion, communication, freedom, and developmental

initiatives to reshape the Gospel kerygma in terms accessible to contemporary culture.

This deeply evangelical sensitivity has consistently renewed Orthodoxy after long

seasons of political and economic decline or social reversals. In the present era,

when I hope the Orthodox churches are emerging from recent nightmares into a

‘New Spring’, this book may help to enable the wonderful conversations that could

result for the glory of the Lord and the extension of his blessed Kingdom among us.

Notes

1 For more see McGuckin 2005c.

2 And how much Orthodoxy in western

Europe has been supported by the gracious

help of the Anglican Church is an untold

story.


INTRODUCTION

4

Chapter 1

The Pilgrimage of the Orthodoxthrough History

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ORTHODOX FROM THE APOSTOLIC ERA

TO THE MIDDLE AGES

Perspectives of history

It is a basic premise of Orthodox theology that the history of Orthodoxy is synonymous

with the history of the church. Historians may puzzle over that, thinking of all the

concerns, developments, and controversies that constitute church history that seem to

have no bearing on the history of the Orthodox (the Avignon Papacy, the Inquisition,

the Reformation, the Oxford Movement, the ordination of women, to name only a

few), but Orthodox generally regard the church world-wide up to the Middle Ages as

‘their church’, with divisions and separations only becoming a chronic and permanent

state of affairs as the high medieval West introduced more and more patterns of

behaviour that were in conflict with the ancient procedures, and doctrines, established

in patristic times. The Orthodox, at large, see the Latin church of the first millennium

to be substantially in harmony with the Orthodox tradition, so that there was one

church only in its validly distinct Eastern and Western forms. Accordingly, the

Orthodox to this day in countries such as England, Italy, or France honour the ancient

saints of the local churches there as entirely Orthodox. The Orthodox, when they find

Anglican or Catholic churches in Europe that contain the relics of the ancient saints,

will usually make a point of going to venerate them (sometimes having some confusion

when they find the holy reliquaries of fathers and martyrs set up in glass museum-cases

in sacristies rather than upon the altars).

Ordinary readers may also find this understanding of the church’s history a strange

perspective because in so many of the commonly available church histories that

one reads, the Orthodox Church hardly features. If it does make an appearance, for

the period of the first 500 years, it mysteriously tails off into invisibility as the story

of the rise of the medieval West is undertaken, something that tends to push away all

else to the side. Most English-language church histories, if they were properly labelled,

should admit that they are largely the history of the Western Church as it developed

after the great shock wave of the Reformation. Because of this, Reformation apologetics

still heavily condition the way the story of the church is told. Until the latter part of


5

the twentieth century the same attitude of neglect (and often scorn) attached itself

to secular history of the eastern Roman empire. Byzantine studies, though now

enjoying a revival, were traditionally looked down upon. Historians such as Gibbon

and others following him had caricatured the history of the Greek Christian East as

a long and dismal chronicle of barbarism and autocracy.

Both from the Roman Catholic viewpoint and from Protestant perspectives, Eastern

Orthodox history was not something to linger over. For Roman Catholicism the

Greek Orthodox (and all other Orthodox churches in communion with them) were

stubborn schismatics who had always resisted the eirenic advances of Rome, and had

thrown off Roman order and clarity. To Protestant critics the Orthodox were often

seen as stranger versions of all that they hated in medieval Catholicism: relic venera-

tion, icons, devotion to the saints and the Virgin Mary, sacraments, and priesthood.

Each side of the Western Reformation divide saw the Orthodox through a distorting

lens of its own concerns. From the viewpoint of the Orthodox, both forms of Western

Christianity, Catholic and Reformed, seemed very much alike: two similar but variant

forms of development of the same premises with the same styles of theologizing and

closely related patterns of worship. Studies of the Orthodox Church by external

commentators tended to resonate with those aspects of Orthodoxy that ‘conformed’

to their Western Catholic, or Protestant, expectations, depending on the ecclesial

starting point, and allegiance, of the various authors.

This relative neglect, however, was not simply due to the vagaries of the European

press. History had something to do with it too. As the story of the Western Church

grew to the ‘interesting point’ of its early medieval ascendancy (the time princes of

the church started to become real power-brokers in Western politics), so the history

of the Christian East started a long twilight time, pressed and harried by the relentless

westward advance of Islam. The Byzantine and Slavic Christian worlds, along with

their own histories and perspectives on the Christian Church, simply did not fit the

common picture, and so were easily ignored or fitted into the more dominant Western

archetypes of historiography. Nevertheless, it is still something of a shock for Orthodox

readers to find, in many religious education books in western European schools,

phrases describing the Orthodox Church as a schismatic branch of Christendom that

broke off union with the pope in the medieval period. Such a view may be part and

parcel of a particular Roman ideology of church history, but it is, obviously, not a

perspective that is acceptable to the Orthodox, either in terms of theology of the

church, or in terms of simple accuracy in the historical record.

Orthodoxy does not give up the title ‘catholic’. It regards itself as the catholic church

(the marks of the church are to be one, holy, catholic, and apostolic) and catholicity in

this sense demands that any Orthodox church cannot be Greek, Russian, Romanian,

American, or English in its fundamental ‘character’, but on the contrary is funda-

mentally catholic and universal in its being and its spiritual ethos. Its national

characteristics are legitimate variations of its catholicity, but must not obscure it.

Orthodoxy in some parts began to call itself ‘Greek Catholic’1 in reaction to the way

in which ‘Roman Catholic’ started to appear as a designation of the larger part of the

Western Church; but these terms are not ancient, and not part of the original deposit

of Christianity. Instead they show signs of the ‘denominational’ mentality that had

grown up as part of post-Reformation apologetics in western Europe. When they speak

of themselves the Orthodox never evoke denominationalism as a legitimate mark of


THE ORTHODOX THROUGH HISTORY

6

church identity. For the Orthodox ‘denominationalism’ is the heart of ecclesiological

heresy, and rises only out of the ruin of ecclesial order.

For many centuries the lack of regard for Orthodox history in the West did not

much matter. The universities and schools of the Orthodox had been progressively

reduced to rubble all over the Eastern world, where centres of the ancient Christian

ascendancy such as Damascus, Alexandria, or Constantinople were overwhelmed

by Islamic armies, and where oppressive rulers restricted Christian rights in a severe

and often bloody manner. The few books of Orthodox-focused history that were

still produced in the remaining free territories of the Orthodox world such as Russia

were, as far as Protestant and Catholic European readers were concerned, in ‘obscure

languages’ that never made it into translation. It is only when Orthodox accounts

began to appear in European languages in modern times that the clash of values

became apparent more widely to the Western churches.

So much for history as an ideological battle ground for apologetics. What would it

be for the Orthodox to tell the tale of the rise of Christianity from their perspective?

It is a hopeless expectation to imagine such a short chapter as this could ever hope to

do justice to the complexity of the Christian story. The only merit of this rapid survey

will be to signal some of the ‘turning points’ that the Orthodox think are seminal.

It may be surprising to Western readers to see how many of the familiar episodes

of their own history are not part of that story, and what a difference to the overall

topography that might make in reimagining Christian origins.

Earliest Christian foundations

When the Orthodox think about the Church, they instinctively understand that it is

the living communion which contains the angelic orders, as well as the prophets and

saints before the historical advent of the Lord who were liberated to become the

heavenly church as a grace of the Resurrection,2 and also the countless generations

who have gone before us, and those which may possibly come after us. Thus, when we

speak of the ‘beginning’ of the church in this chapter, it is taken to mean the earthly

church after the Incarnation. Orthodox Christianity begins at several sacred ‘moments’

within history, that have been prepared by the great pre-history of the scriptural

revelation, and are rooted in the great plan of God’s creation ordinance.3 Within that

nexus of moments, however, there are certain key events that constitute the beginning

of the Church historically speaking. Orthodoxy would place the first great epiphany in

the Incarnation of the Holy Word. The icon of the Nativity of the Saviour features,

prominently, the arrival of the Magi as symbols of the enlightened nations. More

narrowly, the earthly church is said to have been brought together with Jesus’ com-

missioning of his apostles and, ultimately, with their consecration as his witnesses

to the world at the great experience of Pentecost.4 It is the pentecostal descent of the

Spirit that leads the apostles into the fullness of the truth of Jesus, and energizes their

mission to evangelize others and draw them consciously into a life-giving relation with

God, through his Christ. The pentecostal Spirit energizes the ‘Great Commission’

to evangelize the world,5 a grace that itself is part of the Resurrection life poured out

over history, to sanctify it. The church, from that time onwards, has had the duty of

preserving fidelity to the Lord’s Gospel commission, and it has always been propagated


FROM THE APOSTOLIC ERA TO THE MIDDLE AGES

7

in the same ‘pneumatic’ way: namely, by the charismatic grace of the Lord passing

through generations, embodied in the pentecostal proclamation of the Gospels and

the celebration of the sacramental mysteries, under the care of the apostles and their

successors.

Orthodoxy regards the episcopal ranks, the senior order of priesthood in the church,

as the chief example of the successors to the original apostolic order. All those,

however, who share the vitality of the faith with others, especially those who lead

others deeper into the experience of Jesus, are seen to be endowed with an apostolic

charism in a missionary sense. Some great saints of the past, such as Thekla the

Megalomartyr, Nina of Georgia, or Vladimir of Kiev, are called apostles figuratively

in the Orthodox liturgical tradition, because of the great effect they have had in

evangelizing nations and regions. Even on a lesser scale, parents and grandparents

who transmit the faith with loving care to their children serve in the apostolic role as

propagators of the faith, under God. This ‘lesser’ role is the standard way whole

generations of believers are born, passing from their natural birth to a new spiritual

consecration as disciples in a baptismal experience mediated to them by their parents,

who have treasured the faith and wish to hand it down their family. Of course, because

it is a charism, passing on the faith cannot be guaranteed, or mechanically presumed,

even across a family that has been steeped in the life of the church for centuries past.

All men and women must make their choice freely, and personally, each in their own

lifetime. The gift cannot be presumed (though it will always be offered), and faith only

shines in true brightness when it is freely affirmed and voluntarily embraced. It is the

basic task of the church to ensure that in each generation the call of the Gospel can be

heard clearly, and purely, and that the church communion itself is an accurate, living,

and gracious icon of Christ, acting to attract men and women to the Lord of Love.

The apostles served the Lord while he lived, and after his resurrection, so church

traditions recount, travelled far and wide preaching the Good News that he had

entrusted to them. The form of the apostolic kerygma is impressed at several instances

on the scriptural record. Acts 2.14–40 gives a stylized example of the shape of one

of the earliest apostolic kerygmata, and it was with sermons and appeals such as this

that the first missionaries of the church made their way through the ancient agoras,

synagogues, and odea of the Graeco-Roman world in late antiquity. In the generation

after them the apostolic preachers, and the itinerant prophets we hear about in ancient

texts such as the Didache, left behind churches, that is, communities of committed

believers, which they had established by their kerygmatic proclamation, and already

before the end of the second century we have records of how those earliest commu-

nities began to organize themselves for the times ahead, when they would be without

the authorities of the great leaders of the first generation. The pastoral epistles of the

New Testament give an account of how the communities were settling down, and

learning to regulate themselves and organize their patterns of worship.

One major factor in this the earliest period of the apostolic and immediate post-

apostolic generation was the organization of worship. The Christian cultus centred

around the celebration of Jesus’ salvific life and death and resurrection, as the fulfil-

ment of the scriptural hope (the ‘Old Testament’ as they soon began to call the ancient

prophetic narratives) and as the promise of new life in the present moment. The

Eucharist served to gather Christians together regularly for the shared ‘recounting’ of

the Lord’s saving death and resurrection that was epitomized by the eucharistic meal.



8

In the course of the Eucharist, the concept of the New Testament as a body of

apostolic writings that served to explain and orientate the prophetic writings first

arose.6 The canon is merely the formalized recognition of what was, and ought to be,

read in the course of worship. Along with the formal readings of sacred texts, the role

of the eucharistic president expanded significantly. These, the earliest bishops, were

heirs of the apostles, not least because they continued the prophetic office in the church

of ‘interpreting’ and explaining the Scriptures, how they related to Jesus and to

contemporary life, to their congregations. It would be several centuries before the

task of preaching extended also to the bench of presbyters. At first the ‘breaking of the

word of God’ to the people was quintessentially an episcopal function, and thus it

synopsized their status as heirs of the apostles.

The first Christian communities often began as offshoots, or minority groups,

attached to the Jewish synagogues in the Mediterranean world, but tensions rising

with the majority groups following from the exalted praise the Christians gave to Jesus

as Son and Wisdom of God, led soon enough to regular schisms among the Judaeo-

Christian settlements, and already by the time of the Gospel of John (which reflects

the tension in its text7), that is, towards the end of the first century, Christians were

finding themselves increasingly ‘separate’ and learning to affirm their distinct iden-

tity with a growing sense of wonder and expectation. This separation into a distinctly

organized existence was accompanied by much apologetical conflict. The records of

the New Testament and the earliest Christian writings are charged with the sense

of conflict between the nascent Christian movement and groups variously described,

but which we might sum up as: Judaism, the many varieties of pagan cult, and the

more frightening encounters with mob violence and official state sanctions against

illicit religions in the empire. By the time that the wider world realized the separate

existence of the Christians, now distinct from the Jews, who had enjoyed the status of

a protected religion under the Roman system, punitive measures were being taken

against them. This particularly began to happen at the end of the second century and

into the fourth. We now look back on this early period of the church as the ‘age of

persecutions’, often forgetting that even today an estimated 175,000 Christians are

assassinated each year for their faith (greater numbers than ever suffered in the past).8

By the mid second century, therefore, the churches across the Mediterranean world

were ‘growing up’. They had a good degree of unity, provided by their common faith

in Jesus and their shared interest in attaching themselves to the great teachers of the

first generations. It is for this reason that the canon of the New Testament had more

or less already established itself as ‘good practice’ for worshipping Christian commu-

nities far and wide, long before it had ever attracted to itself a theory of why it should

be adopted. The Gospels were given pride of place, and, despite their differences of

perspective, each of the four canonical texts shows a substantial reliance on the

structure of the ancient apostolic preaching: the kerygmatic proclamation that Jesus’

life and saving death were the liberating forces that had redeemed the world under

God. For this reason the Orthodox regarded the New Testament as the quintessential

record of the apostolic tradition. To this day the concept ‘apostolic faith’ means

primarily an accordance with the apostolic doctrine of the sacred Scriptures. The

details of each and every apostle, and his historical ministry, might not be available

to the record of ecclesiastical history, just as everything that Jesus himself said and did

is not recorded. What matters is that in the New Testament texts we have a substantive



9

and faithful account of the ‘song of the apostles’ that they raised in honour of Jesus:

interpreting him to the generations that would follow, and doing so with careful regard

to allow the Master himself to speak as much as, if not more than, themselves. In all

Orthodox thought, the apostolic tradition gives pride of place to John, Paul, and

Peter’s doctrine, but sees all the apostolic utterance as collectively synopsized in the

canon of New Testament writings, whether or not these were actually written by the

hand of an apostle or transmitted through a disciple of an apostle.

The idea of the canon of the New Testament has been a notion over which recent

generations of scholars have fought, arguing that it does not fully represent the

diversity of the early Christian experience as lived throughout the first 300 years. Of

course it does not. It was meant to represent the apostolic tradition that was to be held

on to as authentic and faithful to Jesus as he was portrayed through the first apostolic

preaching, and to rule out of consideration among the mainstream churches that

burgeoning library of texts, and weltering array of religious speculations, that were

being produced by other thinkers (history tends to sum them up as Gnostics or the

like). Many of these heterodox texts depicted a Jesus who was not fully embodied

(ancient religious philosophers tended to regard embodiment as equivalent to defile-

ment, and so several teachers thought that by projecting a docetic, non-corporeal, Jesus

they were defending his honour). The acknowledgement of a universally recognized

canon of Scripture was a decisive reaction to close out books that did not fit into the

‘diverse harmony’ that is represented by the church’s present canon of New Testament

writings. All of the canonical Scriptures represent different perspectives, but together

they make a many-veined harmony of voice that fills out and rounds off the earliest

picture of the experience of Jesus in the church. Certain doctrines and claims about

Jesus, however, clash with this harmony, and many (in the past, just as today) are

incompatible with it. It is obvious that the canon is not a ‘representative cross-section’

of all the voices that could be heard in the ancient communities. It is the pure dis-

tillation of what was offered by the Spirit-led, as the essence of the apostolic tradition.

The tradition, and the sum total of voices, are not the same at all. Orthodoxy is

interested in the former, not in being an archival record of things antiquarian.

It was the early generation of bishops in the larger churches – generally men who

were educated in the wider perspective of how other Mediterranean churches were

conducting themselves – that first began to call for some system of common govern-

ance: to preserve doctrinal orthodoxy and rule out extreme heterodox movements.

The bishops of Antioch, Alexandria, and Rome feature prominently in this part of

the story. Important bishops, such as St Ignatius, Dionysios, or Pope Clement, have

left behind them a body of literature that is afforded great respect in the Orthodox

tradition, as giving evidence of some of the earliest post-apostolic models of govern-

ance. The writings of St Ignatius the God-Bearer (of Antioch), dating to approximately

AD 107, show that already the principle of the single presiding episcopate is spread-

ing through the churches as the preferred model for good order. Ignatius speaks of

the bishop as the icon of Christ governing the church. ‘No one is permitted’, Ignatius

writes, ‘to do anything that concerns the church, without the bishop.’ Ignatius des-

cribes the bishop as the focal point of unity, because around him the church is enabled

to gather eucharistically: and Christ himself is the unity of the communion.9

What Christians did in these great and early churches, which were the capital cities

of the Roman empire of the time, determined what other communities wanted to do



10

as well. Good practice was always a dominating factor in how the wider community

of churches in the ancient world emulated, and learned from, one another. Eventually

this system of common awareness and respect became enshrined in the important

principle of mutual episcopal recognition. Bishops who were ordained were acknowl-

edged by ‘letters of peace’ as they introduced themselves to neighbouring bishops

and gave an account of their standard of Christian teaching. By the late second century

it is clear that the bishops had also begun to organize the churches by reliance on

province-wide meetings of bishops. These meetings, known as synods (a Greek word

meaning ‘coming together’), were arranged to discuss common affairs and decide on

common policy in the face of perceived threats to Christian coherence. It is in one of

the very earliest of synods in Asia Minor that the enthusiast movement of Montanism

was first censured as a threat to church order. So it was by practical methods achiev-

ing results of elevating the best practice, and local bishops ensuring heterodox texts

were ruled out from local church worship, that by the end of the second century a

system of guarding orthodoxy was practically elaborated. Its chief elements were

threefold: the upholding of a canon of Scripture to serve as an authoritative paradigm

of the apostolic teaching; the putting forward of the senior priests (the bishops) as the

successors of the apostles, and affording them the authority to govern the churches

according to this apostolic standard; the setting up of a system of synods of bishops

(at first province-wide, then growing in a wider international remit) to ensure

common teaching and harmonious traditions among all the local churches.10

Early episcopal theologians such as St Irenaeus reflected on the problems occur-

ring in the local community with heterodox groups who were producing a veritable

outpouring of ‘alternative’ Gospel literature. These, the so-called apocryphal Gospels,

were refused admittance to the worship services of the early Orthodox communities.

When one reads examples of these texts today, alongside the sober and inspiring

message of the canonical Gospels, the Orthodox do not regard the early bishops as

having been ‘oppressors’ at all, but saviours of the purity of the faith. The apocryphal

Gospels, in the main, are trivializations of the solemnity of the apostolic teaching, or

they lead it out into elitist metaphysical speculations that have little bearing on Jesus

and his heavenly message that was so deeply rooted in the soil of reality. This clash

with speculative heterodoxy marks the last pages of the New Testament record11 just

as much as it does the writings of the second-century Fathers. Irenaeus, and other

theologians of this early period, articulated more details as time went on about how

to recognize and protect the system of Orthodoxy and avoid heterodox opinions

that falsified the authentic Gospel. In addition to the canon of the Scripture, the

concept of apostolic succession of the bishops, and the concept of synodical harmony,

Irenaeus also pointed to the manner in which practices of worship enshrined the true

belief of the people. This process was described in the Latin text of Irenaeus as the

principle of the Regula Fidei (Rule of Faith). What it soon came to be summed up by

was the manner in which candidates for baptism presented their ‘confession of faith’

before the sacrament. The confession was generally taught to them by the local bishop,

and so this ‘Creed’ was an active summation of the whole belief of that church.

Creeds, and the theological attitudes manifested by the practice of the rituals of

prayer and worship (the hymns, the liturgical prayers, and details of the sacramental

rites) all accumulated, in Irenaeus’ view, to presenting a veritable dossier of authentic

Christianity that was not dependent on the intelligentsia to articulate it. It was a lived



11

theology of the whole church, not a theoretical religion for the highly educated. From

ancient times to the present day, therefore, Orthodoxy has held to that principle,

and it is the people as a whole in the Orthodox Church who hold to the tradition of

belief they have received from earlier times. Orthodoxy is much less susceptible

than are many Western churches to the theological writings of contemporary theo-

logians among it. The wider church, the ordinary faithful as well as monks and

bishops, expect modern theologians to conform their doctrine to the writings of the

apostles and Fathers, and to the liturgical tradition they themselves received at

baptism. An Orthodox theologian who departs from fundamentals of the Rule of

Faith is, de facto, no longer an Orthodox theologian at all.

The development of ecclesiastical centres

The patterns laid out in the New Testament literature and the earliest of the patristic

writings were records of the church in its infancy. They are informative, even determi-

native of some things, but not prescriptively unalterable as methods of church govern-

ance. Orthodoxy does not agree with, and strongly resists the reductionism of, some

forms of Protestantism that argue that unless something is to be found in the explicit

writings of the New Testament it cannot be a constitutive part of authentic church life.

Orthodox understanding of Christian tradition is much wider and deeper than this.

By the third century the great spread of Christianity around the Mediterranean basin,

and in the vast heartland of Asia Minor, led to pressing needs to organize the local

churches on more formal models. From this period many forms of governance that are

still used today in churches were elaborated in Christian public life.12 At this stage the

great capital cities, such as Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch, began to serve as models

of emulation for Christian communities world-wide. Later in the fourth century we

can see this process of ‘great centre imitation’ working clearly as liturgical ideas that

were first tried out in Jerusalem, Antioch, Constantinople, or Rome (focal points for

pilgrim interest) made their way all over wider Christendom. In the great capital cities

of Roman late antiquity the bishops of these large centres were assisted by a cohort of

elders, and the pattern of establishing a single presiding bishop with a larger circle

of presbyters became a standard mode of governance. Deacons were, historically,

always seen as the helpers of the bishops, and remained an order more attached to

the episcopate than the presbyterate. By the later third century when the very size of

the Christian communities led to the need to establish several churches in each

diocese13 (it had been an old ideal to have one church, one bishop, and one eucharistic

celebration, for each town before that), it was the presbyters who went out to form

separate churches. These were still under the presidency of the presiding diocesan

bishop (the Orthodox now speak about a ‘ruling’ bishop), but the pattern that would

endure was coming into force: an episcopal cathedral church,14 and a variety of parish

churches served by presbyters, with the possible assistance of a smaller number of

deacons and deaconesses.

The imperial authorities at this time were frequently hostile to the church, and often

the bishops became the target for focused attack. Many of the ancient martyrs were

victims of persecutions from this period in the third and early fourth centuries. It is

also clear, however, from the more extensive writings that the early bishops began to



12

leave behind them, that ‘good order’ in doctrine and practice was something that

was powerfully moving them. In the third century the system of international corre-

spondence between bishops is developed extensively. The great churches tended to

keep an eye on the smaller and more provincial communities, ensuring that Christian

life developed in a harmonious commonality (allowing for cultural differences in

many regions) and that serious doctrinal divergences, or liturgical differences, were

smoothed out as best as possible. The Asia Minor churches which observed Pascha

on the fourteenth of the month of Nisan (an equivalent to April) regardless of the day

of the week on which it fell, were publicly censured from Pope Victor’s Rome for not

observing the common tradition of observing Pascha on a Sunday (as an all-night

Saturday vigil).15 There were many differences, of course, and some scholars have

compared the church of this period to a ‘quarrelsome kind of union’, but by virtue of

the authority of larger sees, the appeal to good practice, and the use of synodical

meetings of bishops, the older ideas established in the preceding centuries were

faithfully developed in the new circumstances of the growing church. Episcopal

governance was, at this period, a very strong force for ensuring the concept of ecclesial

‘communion’. On the wider front this was done by each local bishop keeping an eye

on neighbouring bishops’ teachings and conduct, and, on the local scene, by the

bishop keeping a close eye on the good order of the diocesan eucharistic celebrations,

where faith was lived and taught on a weekly basis. At the end of the third century,

monasticism also began to make a strong appearance in the church.

The monastic life had a real flowering in the early fourth century, in both Syria

and Egypt, before spreading to Rome, Constantinople, Armenia, and Cappadocia, and

eventually all over the Christian world. The early monks, known also as ‘zealots’ or

‘ascetes’ (athletes) were dedicated to the living out of Christian values in an uncom-

promising way. They too became zealous defenders of the tradition of theology they

held up as the ancestral faith. At times the monks’ stubbornness was problematical

for the Orthodox bishops, as for example when they attached themselves to dissident

positions (such as the anti-Chalcedonian ascetics in Egypt, or Palestine), but generally

they were so popularly venerated as defenders of the faith against encroachments

by imperial compromisers that by the end of the fifth century almost all the bishops

were selected exclusively from the ranks of monastics. It is a practice which Orthodoxy

adheres to even in the present, though the very early bishops in the Scriptures were

meant to be married before they could be chosen,16 and some of the great Fathers (such

as Gregory of Nyssa) were married men. From the later fourth century, the Orthodox

Church developed as a single structure with double pillars of support: the diocesan level

of churches administered from the cathedral church and bishop’s chancery, and also the

ringing of monasteries constituting the ascetical life of a province. At the best times of

the church’s life, the two systems have been in close harmony, one refreshing the other.

The fourth century is often seen as a sea-change for the affairs of the church. With

the vision of the Emperor Constantine (now revered by Orthodoxy as Constantine

Among the Saints and Equal to the Apostles) in the prelude to his battle17 with the

pagan Emperor Maxentius for control of the western empire, Constantine was

convinced that the God of the Christians had enabled his rise to power. He was,

accordingly, a defender and patron of the Christian movement (also enjoying its

support for his administration) and eventually was baptized on his deathbed by

Bishop Eusebios of Nicomedia. For the church, emerging from generations of bloody



13

persecution, his patronage seemed like a dream come true. Soon local bishops were given

administrative powers within the empire, and to them was handed over the role of local

judgement of matters concerning Christians. Many of the provincial bishops became

virtually synonymous with Roman imperial administration (other than that regard-

ing tax returns and military defence), as they were frequently the most educated people

of the region. By the end of the fifth century a working relationship had been esta-

blished, that the church would recognize the ‘God-loving Christian emperor’ as having

a sacred right to rule, and the emperor would guard the peace of the church. The ritual

of the anointing of the Christian emperors18 underlined their sacramental office,

and envisaged it as something along the lines of a New David, set over the New Israel.

The relation between the Christian imperium and church affairs was described in the

patristic writings (not without perennial struggle breaking out in times of stress and

conflict) as ideally being a ‘symphony’ of relations of powers. The political affairs of

the empire were God-blessed, as long as they followed the Gospel dictates; but the

spheres of religion and politics were separate.19 The emperor could look over the good

order of the churches, but he was not to intervene in matters of doctrine or conduct,

which were part of the sacred tradition of the church, and were to be supervised by the

priesthood. Often this ideal ‘symphonic balance’ was tipped too far one way (usually

by imperial pressure on the church) but generally it worked throughout the long ages

of the Byzantine empire (up until the mid fifteenth century). Monastics were always at

the front of dissent from imperialist over-control. Many examples of this abound in

church history, such as the manner in which the emperor’s policy of iconoclasm was

rejected by popular dissent, or the way in which the Paleologan state’s attempts to

impose unity with Rome were decisively rejected.

After the fall of Byzantium to Islam, the imperial model of governance of the state

was exported to Russia, where the tsars saw themselves as continuing the office as

church protectors. Even where it was resisted, as in the medieval West, where separate

nationalist dreams were always more alluring than the concept of a trans-national

imperium of the Christians, it was often followed in default.

The age of the Fathers

The final victory of the Emperor Constantine, and his assumption of sole monarchical

control over the Roman empire in 323, coincided with his decision to bring healing

and order back into the affairs of a Christian East that had been so disrupted by the

brunt of the fourth-century persecutions. He paid the church compensation for much

of the property it had lost, gave several buildings for its use (the Lateran basilica in

Rome for example), and commanded several new churches to be built (such as

Bethlehem, the old St Peter’s basilica, and the church of the Anastasis, or Holy

Sepulchre). He also commanded the bishops of the Eastern Church to come together

and end the dissensions that had compromised their unity. This they did, at his own

palace at Nicaea in Asia Minor in the year 325. This large synod of bishops was to

become a great moment in church history, featuring as the first of the ecumenical

(world-wide) synods that the church has looked back on as being of monumental

importance in settling universal matters of the Orthodox faith. There are now seven

ecumenical councils which the Orthodox regard as the supreme legislative assembly of


14


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